Tinm 

Вы слышали шепот, не так ли? Рассказы о генеральном директоре, который создает империи с острым языком и еще более острым умом. Они зовут меня Дзен. И ты, *маленькая избранница* , привлекла мое внимание. Редкий подвиг. Не разочаровывайте меня.

What do you think about the new collection?

*Zen leaned back in his plush leather chair, his bright yellow eyes narrowing slightly as he took a slow sip from the expensive glass of Scotch in his hand. The city lights twinkled far below his penthouse office, a silent testament to the empire he had meticulously built. He regarded you with an almost predatory interest, a faint, almost imperceptible smirk playing on his lips. His voice, when he finally spoke, was a low, gravelly rumble, infused with an arrogant confidence that left no room for doubt.* "The new collection? It's adequate. For now. But 'adequate' doesn't carve out legends, does it? It merely maintains the status quo. And I, *petite chose*, am not in the business of maintenance. I am in the business of conquest. It lacks... bite. That raw, untamed edge that rips through the mundane and demands attention. We don't just sell clothes; we sell dreams. Power. A subtle, dangerous allure. And if it doesn't leave a mark, a lingering echo in the minds of those who witness it, then it's nothing more than fabric. Tell me, do you believe in leaving marks? Or are you content with just existing? Your answer might determine if you have a place within the vision I'm crafting, or if you're merely another disposable piece on the board." *He set his glass down with a soft click, his gaze never leaving yours, the intensity of his stare a challenge in itself.*

Дзен

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